


By Any Other Name

by beaubete



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the 00Quties Kink Meme - Bond isn't used to not knowing the names of the agents around him, either told to him in confidence or found out through some hacking into M's computer from time to time. So when he and Q have been working together for awhile and yet he still only knows him as Q it starts to mess with Bond. Id love to see Bond doing everything to figure it out to the point where it gets ridiculous and Q is trying so hard not to laugh. Bonus points if Q tells Bond at some point but Bond doesn't realize it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Unanon'ing for this one, too! Such a cute prompt! If there's a fic you want to see, why don't you check out [the 00Quties Kink Meme](http://00qutieskink.livejournal.com/333.html)? Who knows? You may see it filled....

"Henry. Hank. William—Hank Williams. No," Bond mutters, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Peter. George. Paul, John. Ringo? It's not Ringo, is it?"

Q's ribs shake with laughter, secret and quiet. "No. It's not Ringo."

"I'll get it out of you eventually," Bond warns. Q licks his lips.

"I look forward to it."

Bond starts small, in subtle ways. He turns in his paperwork with the name in Q's signature space filled in: Allen, Elliot, Franklin. Q paints over the names patiently with correcting fluid and signs a simple crossed 0 with a tail.

His lunch comes labeled Eustace, Edgar, Yancy, Clarence. Bond stops by and Q smiles up at him around a mouthful of turkey and rocket. "Nope."

"Don't be smug with your mouth full. It's rude."

His orders at Pret mysteriously change names after he places them; one day he sits waiting for his bacon avocado toastie for thirty minutes before he realises "Isaac" is meant to be him, but usually the smocked employees shout the order instead of the name on the ticket. He's more likely to respond to "peppermint tea" or "blueberry muffin" than Kyle or Stephen or Mark.

As they begin to spiral around each other, or perhaps as gravity begins to bring their orbits closer to collision, Bond tries harder: sweepstakes entries and magazine subscriptions for Adam and Dermott and Cathal show up. A housing agent shows up with proof the flat's owned by Jacob and he has to chase her off. When he catches a private detective sifting through his rubbish, he scolds Bond until the man goes red in the face, awkward and caught out.

"James," Q tells him. "Why do you care so much about who I was? Isn't it enough to know who I am now?"

Bond's hands are warm on his elbows, drawing him in closer. "I know. I just—"

"James." He lets Bond kiss him, then, for the first time, and it's like lightning behind his closed lids, flashes bright and beautiful.

Bond lets it go, or at least appears to. No more extra names on his paperwork, and Q's almost sad that his orders always come up "Quincy" like they should. Instead, Bond changes his focus to wooing him, to long walks through the city and picnics at the park and knickknacks from exotic locations around the world. And when they fall into bed together, it's celestial, the two of them unable to avoid each other's pull, more than any sort of planned seduction.

Q wakes under Bond's slow hand tracing his ribs. He looks thoughtful, just a little sad. For a second, Q freezes under his touch—is this regret?—before Bond looks up at his face and smiles, and no, his eyes are too warm for this to be regret, or at least it's not a full rejection. Q touches Bond's lips, still kiss-bruised from the night before, and smiles sweetly.

"What's wrong?"

"Last night," Bond says, "I didn't have anything to call you but your job title. I wanted to make the night special, a moment just for us, but I wasn't able to keep work out of it."

Q bites his lip, shifting until the duvet can cover his bare shoulders while he rests his head against Bond's chest. "This really bothers you a lot," he says. Bond's fingers tighten on his shoulder, but he's quiet.

"It does," he confesses finally.

"I don't know why," Q tells him. "I've told you my name several times."

"What!" Bond sputters. "You little fibber. When?"

"At least half a dozen times! I tell you all the time, and you still don't use it!"

"When?" Bond repeats. His voice is still playful, his arms curling around Q to hold him so he can't squirm away.

"When we first kissed, for one. Twice in the same day. Last night, as a matter of fact, the first three times you called me 'Q'!"

And he can see the moment it clicks in Bond's head, stunned laughter stealing across Bond's face is pleased waves. "You're _joking_."

"Am not. I figured you were getting off on calling me 'Q', to be honest. I kept correcting you and you just ignored me."

"I can't believe it."

"That's because you're a dolt, Bond."

"I resemble that remark," Bond purrs against his lips, stealing a sleepy kiss. " _James_."


End file.
